


A very Avengers Christmas

by Killbothtwins



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Holidays, One-Shots, Posted daily, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-04 10:57:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 14,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5331647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killbothtwins/pseuds/Killbothtwins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A group of superheroes celebrate the holidays. Where Tony Stark gets a heart, SHIELD gets the Christmas spirit, and things may explode. Intended to be a series of one-shots posted one a day until Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. December 1st

“Oh, you're one of those.”

Bruce remarked mildly, considering the situation. 

 

“One of what's?”

Tony asked, flipping up his welder’s mask so he could get a look at the doctor. 

 

“You know. One of those. Starts decorating the very second it turns to December 1.”

 

Tony grinned. 

“Damn right. You're just lucky I was busy with saving the world the day after Thanksgiving or the decorations would have been up then.”

 

“Ooh, you’re one of  those."   
Steve says when he walks in, and immediately plops on the floor to untangle a heap of Christmas lights. Tony’s whole workshop is covered in Christmas, and faint music is playing through the speakers. 

 

Steve’s fingers work deftly through the tight knots in the colored lights, and he grins up at Tony. 

“Is it December first already? I need to go Christmas shopping.”   
  


“You would be one of those. You probably get your presents a month early just in case.”   
Clint said, emerging from the ceiling. He snagged his foot on a strand of tinsel on the way out, and glared at it as he slunk to the floor beside Steve. 

 

“Is that Iron Man suit wearing a Santa hat?”

Clint asked. 

 

“Of course it is.”

Tony sniffed. 

“They all are. Wanda and Vision are out at the store getting me some more.” 

 

Natasha and Thor appeared from somewhere. They were pretty good friends, which was kind of terrifying because Thor had promised to introduce her to Sif.  

“Christmas decorations already? Nice.”

Natasha grinned, snagging a pair of elf ears off of Dummy, who bleeped faintly until Thor draped tinsel over his head in apology. 

 

“This is my favorite month.”

Clint said. 

“I'm going to put thirty candy canes in my mouth at once.”

 

“I bet I can put thirty-two.”

Steve said immediately. 

 

“Thirty-five.”

Natasha said. 

“Who's going to bet on me?”

 

Tony grinned as his teammates began to squabble good-naturedly. 

“This is going to be the best Christmas eve-  ow, Dummy, don't pinch me, you're getting coal in your stocking this year I swear-”


	2. Snowball Fight

No one could quite say the events that led up to the Avengers all crammed into a minivan, listening to campy Christmas carols on the radio and jostling each other for the limited space in the back rows of seats. 

 

"Are we there yet?"

Steve dared to ask from where Thor was drooling on his shoulder, Santa hat draped over his eyes. 

 

Tony, who was still bitter he'd lost shotgun to Natasha, poked him with a candy cane she'd sharpened to a point. 

 

"No."

Natasha said, not opening her eyes, which had been closed the entire impromptu road trip. 

 

Bruce, who was stretched out peacefully in the backseat, which he had gotten all to himself, sighed.

 

"Are we there-"

Tony started to ask, and that was when Clint started speeding. 

  
  


Every single Avenger, except Clint, who was driving and had access to all of the coffee and Red bulls he could want, was asleep by the time they got to their destination. Tony was still clutching an almost empty bag of Christmas candy, and Steve's hand was still inside of it. 

 

"We're here!"

Clint called like a father taking his children on a school trip, desperate to get out of the car. The Avengers startled awake simultaneously and instantly, used to emergency-fueled missions and battles. 

 

"Oh, hey, we're here!"

Tony said brightly, then grabbed Steve and rolled out of the car, landing with a soft crunch on the snow. 

 

"I call Captain America for my team!"

He said. Natasha narrowed her eyes at him, then moved over slowly to their side of the car. Everyone got out silently, almost wary. 

 

"SNOWBALL FIGHT!!!"

Suddenly, puffs of snow were flying from all directions. Clint was in a tree. 

 

Steve packed snowballs with surprising efficiency, large hands smashing them together to become almost unnaturally hard. He used his shield to bounce them to the other team, whacking them in the face more often than not. 

 

Tony, banned from building a snowball creating machine when they’d decided on the outing, was decked in a gold motorcycle helmet with a christmas tree drawn on it in green glittery sharpie. His strategy seemed to be to hurl as many snowballs as he possibly could, usually not forming them completely before they were in the air. 

 

“ Tis the season to be jolly.”

Natasha sang in minor, creepily and as if she were narrating a horror movie commercial. Grinning savagely, she stole snowballs from Steve’s pile and hurled them to the other side with what seemed to be no effort, hitting Bruce’s, Thor’s, and Clint’s chests, faces, and groins. Respectively.

 

It was almost an hour before be fight was over, and by then, Thor had snow glistening in his hair like a fairy princess, and Bruce had retreated back to the car and was sucking on a candy cane, watching the others pelt each other in the face. 

 

They trooped back to the car, leaving behind a site reminiscent of a war zone, including the scorch marks (no one was quite sure how they got there).

 

"I'm cold."

Tony complained, shucking off his boots and sticking his cold toes underneath Bruce's legs. 

 

"Me too."

Clint said, and when he shook his head, chunks of melted snow flew out of his collar and hair and into everyone else. 

 

"Hot chocolate?"

Steve asked, and before he was done, Natasha had already started the car and begun driving. 

  
  
  


About fifteen minutes later, patrons of the nearest to town coffee shop watched in awe as the Avengers, Earth's mightiest heroes, drank their way through almost an entire coffee shop worth of hot cocoa. 

 

Thor seemed partial to the peppermint and the pumpkin spice drinks special for the Christmas season. 

 

Captain America was simply drinking a coffee pot full of hot chocolate. 

 

Black Widow and Hawkeye had ordered a caramel and chocolate frappuccino, respectively, despite the cold, and were stealing sips from the other's drink just as often as they drank their own. 

 

Iron Man had slipped something besides marshmallows into his hot chocolate and was now laughing a little too hard at everyone's jokes.

 

When the coffee shop was empty, and the tip jar full (of hundred dollar bills; Tony was secretly a sucker for the Christmas spirit), the Avengers headed out. 

 

They stared at the minivan parked outside. 

 

"Who has to drive home?"

Steve asked, voicing all of their thoughts. 

  
  
  


An hour later, Sam arrived to find six tired Avengers giving him the puppy eyes. 

 

"Seriously? This is why you called me?"

He asked. Steve shook a little bit of snow out of his hair, sneezing as it fell into his face. 

 

"I'll buy you a pony for Christmas."

Tony said, very seriously, and passed out on Bruce's shoulder. 


	3. Making Cookies

"Tony? Should I ask why there's a deliveryman in my lobby trying to get me to sign for two hundred pounds of sugar cookie dough?"

Pepper's voice, sweet as ever, came over the intercom in Tony's workshop. He poked his head out from under the car he'd been working on to answer. 

 

"You think that's enough? I once saw Thor eat a dozen cookies in one sitting."

He wondered aloud instead of answering her question directly.

 

Pepper's sigh came through the speakers loud and clear. 

"I'll have them bring it up to the industrial freezer on the tenth floor." 

 

* * *

"Any idea why Stark asked us to meet him here?"

Steve asked Natasha as the elevator brought them closer and closer to the kitchen floor of the tower. Not a room. A floor. It was literally an entire floor with nothing in it but a huge kitchen and every food and cooking supply known to man.  

 

The doors slid open and they were immediately blasted with the sound of Christmas carols playing over the speakers and the scent of gingerbread. 

 

"Oh." Steve said. "Nevermind."

 

Tony, Bruce, and Clint were already there, Tony in a floppy Santa hat, Clint sitting on the counter and eating cookie dough out of a bowl with a spoon, and Bruce absolutely covered in flour and green sprinkles. 

 

"Hey!" Tony greeted. "You made it! Grab a spot at the counter and some cookie dough. There's still plenty of room in the ovens."

 

Natasha immediately joined Clint on the counter, swiping some dough out of his bowl with her fingers. 

 

"Hey!"

Clint pouted. She stole another scoop. 

 

"We're making...Christmas cookies?"

Steve asked, taking in the scene slowly. 

 

"Verily!"

Thor agreed, coming out of another room, carrying cookie cutters using his cape as a makeshift basket.

"I find it quite enjoyable!"

 

"Okay."

Steve said, then put on his apron that declared him  "America's Sweetheart" and took a handful of cookie cutters and sprinkles. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Clint coughed.

"Whatcha doing there, Nat?"

 

She looked up at him, still pouring red sprinkles out in a steady stream. 

"Making a gingerbread man."

 

"Well, yeah, but why did you make it look like he's bleeding?"

 

She looked at him like he was a couple steps behind.

"Because he is. I'm reenacting that mission in Prague."

 

"Oh! Then shouldn't he have no hands?"

Clint asked, actually looking closer now.

 

She shrugged deadpanned, "I didn't want to make it too violent."

 

Clint nodded knowingly.

"Then you probably shouldn't include that spy from Argentina."

 

"I wasn't planning on it. But, look, I made gingerbread you a little gingerbread bow and some arrows."

She scooted a tray of finished cookies forward, showing a gingerbread woman with bright red frosting hair and a gingerbread man with a purple frosting shirt and a cookie bow. 

 

"Oh my God." Clint said. "It's beautiful."

 

"You guys are really messed up."

Bruce said as he used an Iron Man shaped cookie cutter. 

 

 

* * *

 

  
  


"Dude, are you humming  The Star Spangled Man With a Plan ?"

 

Steve guiltily stopped humming.

"No."

 

Tony looked over his shoulder.

"Cap, why are you making like a million cookies that look like your shield?"

 

Steve looked down at the mess of red, white, and blue.

"I was going to bring them down to Sam. He said that the guys at the VA would like them."

 

"You're a saint. I dare you to give Sam his own box but use chilli powder instead of red sprinkles."

 

"Like I wasn't going to already."

  
  


* * *

  
Thor was using the handle of Mjolnir as a surprisingly effective rolling pin. 

 

Bruce studied him for a moment before looking at his own pile of unflattened dough and scooting it over. Thor gladly rolled it and scooted it back.

 

Tony seemed to be eating more dough than he made cookies, sprinkles all over his shirt. 

 

It took a couple hours for all the cookies to finish (they didn't have enough ovens, which resulted in some slightly disastrous attempts to use Iron Man's repulsors and Mjolnir to bake them). 

 

Once they were done, there were cookies littering every surface, including the couch. 

 

"Now what do we do with them?"

Someone asked, and they all looked at each other.  

 

* * *

In the cold morning, the doorbell rang on Saint Agnes orphanage. A sister went to answer, not bothering to hurry. Despite what movies seemed to believe, people didn't often just drop babies on their doorstep in the middle of a snowstorm.

 

However, what she found was possibly even more surprising. 

 

There was three expensive looking large wicker baskets on the steps, filled to the brim with misshapen and colorfully decorated cookies. 

 

Feeling a bit stunned, she picked up the card that was resting on the nearest basket.

 

Merry Christmas!

-The Avengers

 

That's all it said, unless you counted the red and green stylized "A" on the front. 

 

She looked up at the sky in wonder, as if she would see them there, then picked up a cookie shaped like an hourglass and bit into it. 

 

It wasn't half bad. 


	4. Daredevil Guest Stars

Steve shivered slightly; he was bundled up in thermal clothes under his uniform, plus his supersoldier metabolism, but he still somehow managed to be freezing. He was on light patrol, just keeping the peace for a while and making sure nothing too serious was going on. 

 

His sharp hearing picked up some unusual noise coming from a corner of Hell’s Kitchen, and he hopped on his motorcycle to check it out. If anything, the sight of a fully-costumed Captain America riding through the neighborhood would probably deter most criminals. 

 

He rode through streets covered in strings of bright holiday lights, smells of warm food and cookies emanating from almost every home he passed. 

 

Steve pulled his bike to a stop in front of an alley; as he’d suspected, there were two rough-looking men, trying to load a trunk full of someone’s Christmas presents into their own van. 

 

He suspected the  “I’m Captain America and think about your life choices, I’m disappointed in you” face would do just fine, but just in case, Steve grabbed his shield off the holder on the bike and stalked towards them. 

 

Before he could make a move, a figure dropped from the rooftops above, landing with catlike agility. 

 

Steve could make out the red suit and horned mask in the dim light, and so could the thieves, apparently, because one of them stiffened and shoved the other when be noticed Daredevil standing there, batons in hand and no expression on his face. 

 

“Well that's not very Christmasy.”

Matt ground out in a deep, threatening voice. 

 

Steve walked into the alley, leaning on one of the disgusting brick walls. 

“I'm disappointed in you, son.”

He said sternly, trying not to laugh. 

“Is this what Christmas is about?”

 

One of the criminals, apparently making the decision between pants-peeing terror and a horrible decision, pulled a knife from somewhere. The glinting metal was incongruous with the brightly wrapped presents separated between the two cars.

 

Steve almost, but not quite, sighed. Getting cocky was never a good idea, especially not when dealing with sharp and potentially deadly objects.  

Matt, though, did sigh, and struck out with a hand almost before Steve could register the action. The knife went flying towards Steve, who caught it. 

 

“Hmm.”

He said, examining it.

“You think Natasha would like this for Christmas?”

Steve tripped the robber who intelligently tried to escape, and gave him a look warning him go stay down. 

 

“Didn't have good weight.”

Daredevil said. 

“She'd just be offended.”

 

And he punched the first robber, who was still trying to get away with it. 

 

“True.”

Steve said, as the man crashed to the ground. 

 

* * *

 

“So,”

Steve said later, escorting Matt by the arm by habit.

“What can I do to make up for crashing your turf?”

 

“Actually.”

Matt said. 

“I could use a favor.”

* * *

Three days later, Steve sent Matt the picture to his law office. It was a selfie of Captain America and Daredevil, grinning cheesily at the camera and framed in a beautiful frame. 

“For  our biggest fan, Foggy.”

Steve had written in his practiced, celebrity signature. 

“ Love, Captain America and Daredevil. Merry Christmas.”

He’d drawn devil horns on Matt’s name, and a little forked tail.

 

Although Matt couldn’t  see  how the picture turned out, Karen’s strangled half-snort laugh when she caught sight of it was enough to convince him he’d found Foggy’s Christmas present this year. 


	5. Hot Chocolate

“Tony, do we have a hot chocolate maker?”

Steve stuck his head in the door of the workshop. 

 

“I dunno.”

Tony said. 

“Probably? One time I found out we had a cotton candy machine and I didn't even know it.”

 

“Thanks.”

Said Steve. 

“I'll check in kitchen two.”

* * *

Natasha swore her hot chocolate recipe was far superior to those of her fellow teammates, backed up by a vehement Clint.Thor, meanwhile, swore Asgard was the creator of the best hot chocolate in the world, and it would be an affront to believe otherwise. 

 

Bruce had picked up a recipe in Switzerland, and Steve knew how to make a few ingredients go a long way. 

 

Obviously, this led to a hot chocolate making contest. 

 

Actually, Tony isn't really sure how it happened, but he's called upon to be the judge as he's the most impartial. 

 

“I was working.”

He complained, as he was dragged to his own kitchen. Who would have thought Tony usually had to be the voice of reason? 

 

“Work, shmirk.”

The assassin half ripping his arm off in his attempt to get him to the kitchen said. 

“There's hot chocolate to be had!” 

* * *

Tony swishes the dark brown drink around in his Captain America mug. He sniffs it like a wine connoisseur, and eyes it suspiciously. 

He can’t tell who's hot chocolate it is, because they had decided it should be anonymous, but he’s still a little terrified to try it. 

 

Tony steels himself. He is a  superhero,  dammit. 

 

He’s a superhero. 

 

Taking a fortifying breath, Tony takes one large gulp. 

 

It’s good. Really good. 

 

The chocolate melts in his mouth almost perfectly, and it’s not too hot (like Clint’s burning lava mouth, that guy can drink straight out of the kettle, practically), and not too cold. Tony is starting to get worried. Natasha looks venomous, and he’s actually kinda worried Bruce will Hulk out if he loses, if just by principle. 

 

Tony goes on to the next mug (a horrendously purple one of Clint’s, and it actually has little purple LED lights on the front spelling Clint’s name), and it’s delicious, too. 

 

It’s  so  good. Exactly the same amount of good as the last one, even though it is different, subtly. If Tony would have to guess, he would say it was Natasha’s. There’s a little bit of a kick to it, almost spicy. 

 

The next mug, another one of Clint’s, a dog patterned mug so hideously ugly it’s been thrown in the trash twice and subsequently rescued by a wounded Clint, has marshmallows floating on the top. Tony shoots an offended look at Steve, who looks unapologetic. Steve  knows  his weakness for those things. 

 

And so it goes. 

 

Tony literally cannot choose this. Besides the fact that they’re all the most delicious hot chocolates he’s ever had in his life, he thinks he might be in actual danger if he chooses wrong. 

 

Natasha is giving him the throat cutting sign, eyes narrowed, Steve gives him a look that insinuates America will be disappointed in him if he chooses wrong, and Thor looks like he might cry. He’s totally faking it. Probably. 

 

Tony opens his mouth (he hasn’t thought of what he was going to say, but that’s usually what happens when he starts talking), when Pepper comes in. 

 

“Hi, Pep!”

Tony says, perhaps a little too brightly. 

 

“Hey, babe.”

Pepper says, coming up to the table to kiss him on the cheek. She spots the hot cocoa on the table, and, after examining it to make sure there were no purple liquids (it happened  once ), took a drink out of each one, leaving a red lipstick stain on each of the rims. 

 

“Mmm.”   
Pepper says, because she’s probably Tony’s soul mate,

“These are all delicious. But this one’s definitely the best.”

 

She snags Steve’s “World’s Greatest Grandpa” mug off the table, and sips it again, then leaves. 

 

Thor looks inordinately pleased with himself, and Tony finally sees his opening. 

 

“You heard the lady.”

Tony says. 

“Gotta jet.”


	6. The True Meaning of Christmas

Americans were  weird  about holidays, Wanda decided. Sam had been flying around the facility for the last hour or so, draping long strings of brightly colored lights over the roof and around the tall trees on the far side of the grounds. He also, for some reason, had insisted that Stark put a fresh coat of paint over his wings and recolor the rest of the suit. He was now clothed in garish red and green colors, a festive Christmas scene depicted over his wings.

 

Wanda was watching in fascination as the man zipped around, humming songs about reindeer and snow. Vision joined her, floating down from somewhere and landing gracefully next to her. 

 

“Curious, isn't it?”

He asked, surprising Wanda a bit.

 

“Yes. It seems odd to go to so much trouble just for a holiday, does it not?”

She asked. She had to tilt her head back a little bit to look at his face.

 

He looked puzzled as well.

“Humans are a strange breed. No offense, of course.”

 

“Of course.”

She agreed. In front of them, Clint had appeared and was throwing snowballs at Sam as the other man did loopty loops to avoid them.

 

“Maybe we simply lack the Christmas spirit.”

Wanda suggested. She rubbed her arms a little, trying to get them warm.

 

Vision looked at her seriously.

“Perhaps we should try to rectify this.”

 

She shrugged. In the distance, Barton made a shrieking noise. They both ignored it.

 

“Why not?”

She said. 

  
  


* * *

  
“What are you two up to?”

Steve appeared in the doorway of Wanda’s room. He was in civilian clothes, a pair of skinny jeans paired with an oversized sweater with his shield splashed across the front. 

 

“Which looks more Christmassy?”

Wanda asked instead of answering, holding two scarves up for him to see. 

 

“Um, that one?”

He said with some confusion, pointing to the one patterned with a random splattering of candy canes.

 

“Good.”

Wanda decided with a firm nod, looping the scarf around Vision’s neck several times. 

 

He already had a floppy knit hat perched on his head, the pom-pom on top somewhat clashing with the bright colors that made up his face. He looked vaguely like a puppy that someone had dressed up for family photos.   

 

“What are you doing?”

Steve asked again, looking smiley in a way that suggested he was trying not to laugh. 

 

“Nothing of import.”

Vision declared haughtily, sweeping past Steve and flipping his new scarf out behind him. It looked lovely with his cape. 

 

Wanda followed, looking just as haughty, though she was making a jingling noise as she walked due to the absurd amount of jingle bells she was wearing on her person. 

 

* * *

Now that they were properly attired, Wanda and Vision were doing some serious research. They were on the couch in the rec room, a Black Widow comforter (taken from Clint’s room) warding off the cold. Wanda wasn't one hundred percent sure that Vision even  could  get cold, but he seemed comfortable enough. 

 

-Deck the halls with boughs of holly-

 

Wanda braved reaching a hand out into the cold to grab the remote and pause what they were listening to. She looked at her notebook, full of tiny, neat handwriting in her native tongue.

 

“So, should we put that before or after dashing through the snow?”

She wondered aloud, chewing the tip of the pencil eraser. 

 

“Perhaps before that, but after roasting chestnuts over an open fire.”

Vision suggested, and she nodded, crossing out a line and writing it elsewhere.

 

“Do Americans really do all these things?”

Wanda asked, looking down at her list. 

 

“The songs do suggest the affirmative.”

He said. She pressed play.

 

-Fa la la la la la-

 

She cuddled further into the warmth of the blankets.

 

-tis the season to be jolly-

 

She used her powers to levitate her mug of hot cocoa into her hands then took a long sip.

 

-Fa la la la-

  
  


-la-   
  


* * *

There was two swimming pools in the vicinity of the Avengers training facility, one in the indoor gym, and an Olympic-sized one in the back of the grounds. Both were heated, which impeded their plans a little.

 

Still, never let it be said that Wanda Maximoff and The Vision are quitters.

 

It took a little fiddling with the atmospheric controls and perhaps a touch of magic, but they managed to completely freeze over the lap pool in the gym. 

 

Natasha, it turned out, had ice skates tucked into the back of her closet, which she lent to Wanda, and Vision simply formed a pair, like he had done with his cape when they first met him.

 

Wanda actually had been skating before, with Pietro a few winters ago. It hadn't been anything like this. 

 

They each skated a bit shakily at first, but were doing neat figure eights in no time. Wanda even made it snow, though the red tinge of her powers mixed in with the pure white to form a pale pink powder. 

 

They twirled around until Stark came on the intercom to ask what the hell they'd done to his gym. Then they twirled even more.

* * *

Wanda fell asleep that night dreaming of fairy lights and Christmas trees. 

 

She woke up at about two in the morning to see Vision standing next to her bed and looking at her.

 

“Can I help you?”

She asked, her accent even thicker with sleep.

 

“I figured it out.”

He said, not blinking.

“The Christmas spirit was inside of us the whole time.”

 

“Go to sleep.”

She told him before squeezing her eyes shut. She ignored the protest that he is “incapable of sleep” and threw a pillow at his face. 

 

“Don't be a Grinch.”

He whispered, and she fell back asleep laughing. 


	7. Past Christmas: Natasha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are meant to be little snapshots into some of the past Christmases for the Avengers. Most, if not all the Avengers will eventually have their own chapters. I would love different Christmas prompts, not just for past Christmases, as I'm getting a little low on ideas!

1- Natasha danced. Unfamiliar music swirled around her, but Natasha was graceful as a butterfly and she had a knife in the right pocket under her tutu. 

 

There was a tree in the corner, covered in sparkly lights and ornaments that danced in the colors like Natasha herself. 

 

She was distracted, momentarily, by thoughts of that tree, even as her mind cataloged it; no hidden weapons, packages under, possibly explosive. 

 

No matter, Natasha was wearing a sparkling ballerina's dress, and she did not know what “Christmas” was. 

* * *

2- It was cold in Russia, usually, and today was no exception. Clint had insisted on lighting a fire in the fireplace with matches and a tattered block of wood he had most likely torn from the dismantled barricade downstairs.

 

The archer had, perched atop his head, a hideous Santa hat that looked to have seen more winters than Clint himself. 

 

Clint stoked the fire a little more, then leapt onto the bed Natasha was reclining on, even though there were two (well, two and a quarter) that survived in the little hotel room they were holed up in. 

 

He eyed her, somewhat disapprovingly, then plopped his Santa hat on top of her red curls. 

 

“Why?”   
She asked, although she didn’t remove it yet.

 

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year, Natasha. It’s Christmas!”   
Clint said, as if the Santa hat and the Christmas lights outside weren’t a hint. 

 

“You don’t have anything, птица.”

Natasha pointed out, a smile quirking at her lips. Clint turned on the TV, which had a crack in it but seemed to be otherwise fine. 

 

“Uh, duh,”

Clint said, rolling his eyes.

“Red,”   
He pointed to a long scratch across his forehead that had only recently stopped bleeding,

“And green.”

The archer pointed to a mottled bruise over his cheekbone, which was more than likely broken.

 

Natasha grinned sharply. 

 

“See, built in Christmas spirit. Unlike you. Heathen.”   
Clint said, half-smiling. 

“Common, let’s watch something.”   
  


There would be at least a day in which SHIELD couldn't reach them, and, well, until then, it was Christmas. 

* * *

3- Natasha had traded the Santa hat out a few years ago- it was Clint’s- and now had an almost-equally as battered elf hat. If any of the agents loitering around the SHIELD Christmas party thought it was unusual, none of them dared mention it to the Black Widow. 

 

Christmas carols played in a loop over the speakers, and there was more than one agent with a dash of something extra in their eggnog. 

 

Natasha flitted about from place to place, occasionally stopping to speak with the agents she was on friendly terms with, and sometimes stopping to snag an overly sugary cookie from a table. 

 

Clint joined her near the back of the room, where two Ops agents were trying to play spin the bottle with a candy cane. 

 

“What do you think?”   
He asked her, grinning up into the red and green lights, pleasantly relaxed and most likely sampling some of that eggnog. 

 

“I like it.”   
Natasha decided. She wasn’t quite used to the concept of Christmas yet, but she did like the atmosphere. People were happy, and it even seemed genuine most of the time. For other ex-assassins, the season of joy might have been depressing, but Natasha found it strangely hopeful. 

 

“Oh, yeah?”

Clint asked. 

“I’m a little bored.”   
They both grinned at each other, and watched the two tipsy agents spin the candy cane around and around. 

 

“Dare you to kiss someone under the mistletoe.”

Clint said.

“And, by the way, I do count as someone.”   
  


“Hmm.”

Natasha said consideringly, running her red and green painted nails through her red hair and the green, sparkly ribbon in it. She leaned up to Clint, and, smirking, turned towards the doorway. 

 

“Hi, Phil.”

She told the stoic Agent Coulson, then leaned up and kissed him. For an uncomfortably long time, yanking his tie closer to her. 

 

She pulled back and grinned at Clint, who was standing with his mouth open. It looked as if he wasn’t sure whether to be shocked or terrified. 

 

Coulson looked at her and sighed, unrumpled. 

“Ms. Romanoff. Merry Christmas.”   
  


Natasha smiled again, then sidled up to Clint. The two looked at Agent Sitwell, walking through the door in a hideous Christmas sweater. 

“Your turn.”

Natasha whispered, deadly still. 

“Merry Christmas.”   



	8. Wrapping Presents

Natasha shuffled into Thor's room, wearing pajamas and looking strangely vulnerable. He put down the book he was reading, one titled Harry Potter, and beckoned her to come in. 

 

His quarters in the tower were far large enough to room both Thor and Natasha, but the assassin still walked, catlike, towards Thor before deigning to speak. Her pajamas, he noticed, were an early gift from Steve and featured black widow spiders with Santa hats. 

 

Thor watched as Lady Natasha summoned the courage to speak. 

 

“Do you know how to wrap presents?”

She asked, glancing around as if for eavesdroppers. 

 

Thor blinked. It was not, exactly, what he had been expecting. However, Darcy had spent a fair amount of time demonstrating the apparently extremely important earth skill with sparkly wrapping papers and bows. He was fairly confident he could assist Natasha. 

 

* * *

 

“Oh no.”

Steve said, glancing up at the top of the tower, shading his face with a hand and crinkling his nose in the way Tony told him looked like an old geezer. 

 

“What?”

Bruce asked, stopping short. A sudden clap of thunder startled them both, making Bruce jump but not Steve. 

 

“Oh.”

Bruce said, looking at the angry storm clouds orbiting the tower and the tower only, a sure sign of Thor’s distress. 

 

Steve glanced at Bruce, and, apparently deciding to be the adult in this situation, sighed and headed into the tower. 

 

He wandered past Tony, who was tinkering with something on the couch and apparently oblivious to the loud thunder and Russian curses rumbling through the Tower. 

 

He sighed, pausing outside Thor's door, and closed his eyes. Then Steve opened the door, looking resigned. 

 

Opening the door, he came upon a flurry of colored paper, tape, and wrapping paper. 

 

“Why.”

He asked, already halfway out the door. 

 

Natasha growled something low in her native language, making Steve’s mouth twitch upwards. 

 

“Use your English words, Natasha.”

He said, finally catching sight of Thor, buried under a mountain of Santa paper and ribbons. 

 

Instead of answering, Steve was given the sharp  thwack  of scissors as they flew into the wall almost directly next to his face. 

 

“Okay.”

He said, and shut the door. 

* * *

“I don't understand.”

Said Natasha, in Russian, because Thor had the All-Speak anyhow and she was very pissed. 

“We put tape here but there is a tear there now.”

 

Thor just sort of growled. They were attempting to wrap Clint's present, a hideous purple arrow patterned sweater. It was much lumpier than any of the square packages, like Steve's “world's best grandpa” mug, which came in a box. Though, admittedly, they did struggle with that as well. It was sitting in the corner with slightly deformed edges and two different kinds of wrapping paper.

 

“I have encountered enchanted mazes with less perplexity than this.”

Thor said, almost resigned now. 

 

“You know what?”

Natasha said, dumping Clint's ugly sweater into a Target bag and wrapping it in newspaper. 

“Good enough.”


	9. Past Christmas: Steve

1- Cold seeped in everywhere, around newspapers stuffed in walls and through thick blankets. No one was ever completely warm no matter the effort, and less and less people slept outside, crashing in hallways and shelters. 

 

Sarah Rogers didn't appear to let the cold bother her any, bustling around her small apartment like it was any other day. 

 

The door practically flew open, bringing with it two flushed-faced little boys. Steve was practically mummified in jackets and threadbare scarves, while Bucky had on only a nice coat and gloves and looked perfectly warm. 

 

Sarah shook her head, stirring the pot on the stove. Resolving not to worry about it, she dumped the last of their vegetables into it, and swatted Bucky's hand away from the oven. 

“What were you boys out doing, then?”

She asked.

 

“Nothing.”

The two of them chorused in a rehearsed innocence, smiling up at her. 

 

“Oh,  nothing,  huh?”   
Sarah asked, even as she mentally cataloged her two boys. No visible signs of fighting, at least. So Steve hadn’t been able to come up with an excuse to fight, or at least had come out on top. 

 

“Well…”

Bucky said, grinning. 

“We found something for Christmas!”

 

And then the two of them were out the door again, returning in half a second dragging a small, bedraggled pine tree. 

 

Sarah chose not to ask where they obtained it; she guessed it was from less than legal means. 

 

Instead, she smiled brightly. 

 

“Perfect,”

She said, taking in the looks on their faces. 

“And it'll go perfectly with this chocolate pie I'm making!”

 

Both boys’ eyes grew huge. Sarah had taken extra laundry for months to afford that pie, and they were going to have Christmas if it killed them. 

 

“Merry Christmas, Ma.”

Steve grinned, and that was when Sarah noticed her son was missing a tooth. 

 

* * *

 

2- Bucky sighed, glaring at his best friend. 

 

“Just come over for Christmas dinner. My folks would love to have ya.”

Bucky had grown out of his small stature of boyhood, but Steve had not. 

 

“Nah.”

Steve said. 

“I was gonna go see if they needed help at that homeless shelter down on fifth.” 

 

Bucky rolled his eyes so hard he was actually kind of surprised he didn't get a glimpse at the back of his head. 

 

“Yeah, right.”

He said. 

“You’re coming with me, Rogers.”   
  


Bucky grumbled to himself, grabbing his friend by the collar and forcibly dragging him the other direction. 

 

“Buck?”

Steve asked, when it was obvious he would not be getting free.

 

“Yeah, punk?”   
“Thanks. Merry Christmas.”   
“Merry Christmas.”

* * *

3- 1944.

 

The Commandos, not the most sparkling-mouthed of soldiers at the best of times, became outright  foul  when it was cold. 

 

Dernier had been teaching them French curses in order to give them more variety, while Peggy was always available for scathing British comments, some of which made Monty blush. 

 

All these, and more, were aimed at the sky at the beginning of December, when the snow began coming down in earnest and toes and fingers started to become in real danger. 

 

No one was more disgruntled than the two native Brooklyn boys, who would tell anyone who made the mistake of asking exactly what they thought about the snow, the cold, and the other soldier’s mothers, if they were really grumpy. 

 

Steve, perpetually Captain America even if slightly different than the public’s view of Captain America, shut up about a week and a half into December. 

 

When they took refuge in a small town, Steve slipped away and didn’t come back for an hour, cheeks red and a couple pages from his sketchbook missing. 

 

He could be seen whispering covertly with Peggy (not a new sight, but there was much less angsty mooning over each other and more evil looks), Bucky, and, once, a soldier who looked close to starstruck tears. 

 

Christmas Eve is always a sort of sad time, especially when the Commandos are out in the field. It’s depressing to think about the fact that the entire world is at war during a time of peace and when everything is so cold and soggy. 

 

The Commandos are therefore suspicious, when their leader seems disproportionately excited for the situation.

 

 

The day before Christmas, the Commandos arrived at camp after a lengthy debriefing to find the largest tent blocked off, with a stern-looking guard glaring at anyone who dared come close. 

 

They ran into Steve, who was ducking into the mess tent. He had glitter on his nose. 

 

Dum-Dum eyed him. Barnes was nowhere in sight. 

 

"Gotta go!"

Steve said, and ducked away, obviously hiding something behind his back. 

 

All this culminated in a Christmas day with no Captain America in sight. He finally appeared around noon, grinning brightly and dragging along Peggy and Bucky.

 

He led them to the tent from the day earlier, and Bucky showed off the interior like a grinning show-hostess, looking proud; Agent Carter merely punched him on the shoulder.

 

In front of them was a giant Christmas tree. And they meant  giant.  The thing reached to the ceiling of the mess tent, sparkling brightly at them. It was adorned with makeshift ornaments and strings. They had no idea how they'd gotten ahold of the tinsel, but the Commandos suspected it may have had something to do with one of Steve's mysterious disappearances. Many of the "ornaments" were nothing more than spent shells, bits of frayed bootlaces, and playing cards. Somehow, it was beautiful. 

 

And, at the very, very top, sat a Bucky Bear, cheerfully wearing a Santa hat with holes cut for his ears. 

 

"Merry Christmas!"

Steve said, and plopped an identical Santa hat on the real Bucky, who looked as if he was fighting back a smile. 


	10. Space Christmas

The former mercenaries who'd taken up residence on the Milano were quite used to waking up to music. Abnormally so, really. Peter Quill loved his Awesome Mixes, that was for sure. 

 

But today was different. Playing, at absolutely maximum volume, was a new song. It seemed Peter had been holding this one for a special occasion. 

 

The Guardians of the Galaxy emerged from their separate quarters grumpily, more than their fair share of them holding knives. 

“He is lucky I occasionally enjoy his presence and will not remove his lungs from his chest.”

“I am Groot.”

 

Peter turned to them, apparently unrepentant about the early wake-up call. 

 

“Merry Christmas!”

He half-shouted from his position over the stovetop.

 

“What’s that? We gettin’ paid?”

Rocket asked. 

 

“And what are you cooking?”

Gamora said, sidling up to the human to look. 

 

“I got a vid-call from those Avengers guys today. Apparently, it's Christmas.”

Peter beamed hugely.

 

“And you're making… pancakes?”

Rocket climbed Gamora’s leg go get a better look. 

“Not that I'm complainin’.”

 

“I am Groot.”

The giant tree says agreeably.

 

“You get pancakes on Christmas morning. It's a rule. Okay so it's a little last minute.”

Peter said, flipping a pancake. 

“So you each get three hours to find presents for everyone, since we can't go shopping.”

 

They were in the middle of space, nothing around them but swirling nebulae and far off stars.

 

“I don't give my stuff away.”

Rocket complained, but it was half-hearted. 

 

“I am Groot?”

Groot asked. 

 

“I, buddy, woke up four hours ago.  Now,  I’m on decoration duty.”

* * *

Over pancakes, Peter explained the odd Terran concept of Christmas, although they suspected much of it was fabricated for his own amusement, especially since he claimed that there was a man who could fly around the entire world without the aid of a spacecraft, and that lots of people made sacrifices to the great warrior Rambo. 

 

Although there was more than a touch of complaining, the Guardians agreed, and scattered to different corners of the Milano to search for gifts.

 

Drax seemed disgruntled by the idea that the gifts had to be personal,  no, Drax, I told you, you can't just give us the gift of not killing us,  and Rocket pretends to grumble while poking around in the others’ rooms to see what they like. 

 

Three hours later, the Guardians converged in the control room of the Milano, laden with somewhat shoddily-wrapped gifts. Peter was already there, headphones in and dancing happily to what he had told the Guardians was a Christmas song. There was what resembled a large tree in the middle of the room, with Peter's packages already under it. Since they were, you know, in space, Peter hadn't actually been able to acquire a pine, but he'd cobbled together one out of scrap metal parts and some of the leaves from Groot's greenhouse. 

 

He plopped a homemade Santa hat on Gamora's head (to go with the green) and asked Groot to float some of his tiny lights around, since they were kinda lacking on Christmas lights. 

 

It was somehow beautiful. 

 

“Present time!”   
Peter screeched, shattering the tranquil atmosphere in the room and turning up his Christmas song to full blast. 

* * *

Despite themselves, the other Guardians found themselves ramped up by Peter’s enthusiasm, wrapping paper strewn across the floor and more than one of them with bows on their heads. None of them had been able to change out of their sleepwear, due to Peter’s insistence. 

 

Peter presented his gifts first; a beautiful knife for Drax, an obviously homemade hair clip that doubled as a lockpick for Gamora, paints for Groot (they’d wash off his bark, he reassured, it was like chalk), and a drawer for Rocket in which he’d be allowed to store his bombs. 

 

The others came up with equally thoughtful and unexpected gifts, each alien holding their presents tight to their chest. Groot wouldn’t stop smiling at the crown made of old wires Rocket had made for him, and Peter was already wearing the practical but awesome boots Drax had given. 

 

To finish, they made cookies and ate them in front of an episode of  By the Light of the Asteroid. 

 

“Does this match up to your memories of Terra, Starlord?”   
Gamora asked Peter, biting the head off a gingerbread shaped cookie a little too violently. Her hair clip was in her hair and the flower necklace Groot had made her was draped around her neck.

 

“I’d say it’s better.”

Said Peter, grinning. 

  
Despite themselves, the Guardians couldn’t help but smile too.    



	11. Party Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I guess this is a really weird mixture of comic canon, MCU canon, and just a bit of headcanon? Sorry.

Tony Stark throws the best parties ever. This is pretty much universally acknowledged, including on Asgard, where sometimes parties could last for  weeks . Even Reed Richards grudgingly agrees, even though Tony is pretty sure the man hates him because he’s the superior scientist.

(Oh, Tony, Bruce says, patting him on the back, I don't think that's  why  he hates you)

 

The point is, Starks throw some awesome parties. So, obviously, the logical thing to do as the holidays draw near is to throw one, superheroes only.

 

It's non-denominational, technically, since the superhero community is a mix of weird religions and beliefs, and Tony is frankly scared of what might happen if he forgets about Hanukkah and Kitty Pryde and Magneto team up to come after him. 

 

So, non-denominational, but pretty much, yeah, it's a Christmas party.

 

Pretty much all the teams RSVP'd, with the Brotherhood of Mutants down as a maybe. 

(What the hell? He hadn't even invited them)

* * *

The Fantastic Four arrive first, landing on the roof because they're freaking show offs.

 

They're wearing matching blue sweaters with a large 4 knitted across the front- even Ben, though he looks uncomfortable. 

 

“Tony!”

Sue greets warmly, stepping in for a hug.

 

“Stark.”

Reed greets, not warmly at all.

 

“Moneybags!”

Johnny greets, warm in the non-metaphorical sense. He's on fire.

 

“Johnny, what did we say about lighting other people's houses on fire?”

Ben asks in a gravelly (haha) voice, looking warningly at his teammate.

 

“To only do it to supervillains.”

Johnny recites, bouncing on his toes, though the fire flickers out a second later.

 

“Follow me, the party's downstairs.”

Tony offers, leading the team away and being grateful for the extra reinforcement he put in the elevators in anticipation of the Thing's arrival. 

 

A minute after they disappear, Dummy wheels onto the roof, wielding a fire extinguisher and looking as confused as a robot without a face can look. 

* * *

The Young Avengers are next to arrive, trying not to look like a high-school tour group and failing miserably. 

 

Clint appears out of nowhere, grabbing the other Hawkeye's arm and disappearing in the general direction of the archery range.

 

The other teens stare after her in dismay for a bit then awkwardly try to mingle for a while. They stop when the mini-hulk finds the game station and they all clump up over there, taking the occasional selfie.

 

They break a lamp, but the dark-haired kid waves his hand and says something and it fixes itself, so Tony lets them be.

* * *

  
The X-Men don't seem too happy about the X-Jet having to share its rooftop parking space with the Fantasticar, but they hide it pretty well. Xavier only spares it a glance as he wheels down the ramp, but Tony can tell he's comparing the two vehicles in his mind.

 

And, aw, man, speaking of minds, Tony totally forgot that like half the people there can read his. Xavier always promises that they would never, but Tony doesn't quite believe him. Just in case, Tony starts to frantically sing “all about that bass” at top volume in his head.

 

Wolverine looks pretty unimpressed with Tony's awesome home, and drags Beast by his furry blue arm towards the open bar. McCoy shoots Tony a sorry glance but follows, taking the chance to ensure none of the kids get too close to the alcoholic drinks.

 

Storm immediately strikes up a conversation with Sue Storm, probably comparing names or something. Cyclops just kind of lurks in the corner, looking generally unhappy and snacking on a plate of festively colored cookies. 

 

A kid walks by, wearing a blue snowflake sweater and completely m ade out of i c e what are they e ven feeding those children ?

 

Jean Gray walks by, humming the first few bars of “all about that bass” and when Tony thinks  I knew it , she shoots him a look that could make lesser men cry. 

 

As it is, Tony just takes a few steps back and periodically thinks nice things about redheads in general. 

* * *

Tony pulls Steve aside while everyone else is watching Thor chug eggnog.

 

“I forgot to invite Spiderman.”

He hisses. 

 

Steve laughs at him and goes to challenge Natasha to a drinking contest (which she's obviously going to win, Tony doesn't know why Steve's even bothering).

  
  


Spiderman shows up anyways, as the younger Ms. Marvel's plus one. They're both in full costume and shooting him dirty looks all night. Tony tells Steve, who laughs at him again.

* * *

Sam and Rhodey arrive together, dragging an awed looking Scott Lang, who's in full Ant-Man gear and holding what Tony thinks might actually be the cutest looking little girl he's ever seen in his whole entire life.

 

She introduces herself as Cassie with a gap-toothed smile and oh my God, she's adorable. She thinks that The Thing is the best thing ever and spends most of the night following him around, dragging her father by the hand. 

 

“I'm going to adopt your child.” Tony tells Scott seriously, bending down to the girl's height. “Do you want a pony? I can get you a pony.”

 

She purses her lips adorably.

“Nah, I already have that giant pet ant.” Cassie says. “I'll take a tiger, though. The ugliest one you can find.”

 

Her father laughs uneasily and moves her away, trying to explain that a tiger would never fit in their house, and what would they even feed it?

 

She giggles at him and snags a cookie from a table as she walks by. Tony slips her another one.

* * *

Matt Murdock shows up in his red “I'm not Daredevil” sweatshirt and a lopsided knitted hat with fake devil horns. There's a blonde man named Foggy on his arm looking vaguely intimidated and awed at the same time. 

 

Matt keeps trying to hand people candy canes, for some reason, so the more polite heros (cough cough Steve) have a stockpile of about seven each. 

 

Natasha braids them into Thor's hair, with some amount of difficulty, but nothing that an assassin as highly trained as her can't overcome.

 

“She once killed a person with a candy cane.” 

Clint helpfully informs Matt, who makes an agreeable noise and sips his hot chocolate.

* * *

The party is in full swing, with heroes of all sorts gathered in the penthouse suite of Stark Towers. 

 

“Not a bad party.”

Gambit tells Tony.

 

Tony squints.

“My safes are uncrackable.”

 

“Challenge accepted.”

Gambit decides. 

“Hey, Kitty! I need your help for  un instant .”

 

Tony sighs and decides that Pepper may have been right when she'd told him this was a bad idea. But then again, she had been wearing a snowflake sweater at the time, so that lessened her credibility a little bit. 

* * *

Halfway through, Jessica Jones walks through the balcony doors, (because she apparently climbed up the fire escape because apparently superheroes can't do anything like normal people, geez) steals three bottles of Tony's best booze, and leaves. No one stops her. 

 

“Oh, yeah, merry Christmas or whatever.”

She says as she goes.

 

(Luke Cage apologizes for her, eats half a pie, then makes his exit, taking another full pie with him.)

* * *

Bruce leans against the counter, stirring his hot chocolate with a candy cane. He's wearing a green sweatshirt that features Santa Claus working out a complex theoretical equation that, in nerd talk, solves out to a dirty word.

“You're right, Tony, you do throw some pretty amazing parties.”

 

Something thuds in the distance.

“Sorry!”

A deep voice calls.

 

“Yeah. I really do.”

Says Tony proudly.

 


	12. Past Christmas: Tony

Past Christmas: Tony

 

1.

Edwin Jarvis stepped through the front doors of the Stark manor, shaking snow from his jacket and taking extra care not to track water onto the newly polished floors. 

 

A six year old Tony Stark came skidding around the corner, sliding on said floors in socked feet. 

 

“Master Tony, what have I told you about running indoors?”

He chastised gently, smiling at the child anyways.

 

“Sorry, Jarvis.”

Tony said, slowing down somewhat. He gave a gap-toothed smile that always meant trouble.

“Did Anna make cookies?”

 

Jarvis feigned offence.

“And here I was thinking you were just excited to see me.”

 

“I am, honest!” Tony protested. “She makes real good cookies, though.”

 

“That she does.” Jarvis agreed. “Only for boys who have been good, though.”

 

Tony stared at him, wide-eyed. 

“I've been good! I helped clean up Dad’s workshop after he taught me how to weld.”

 

“Did you?”

Jarvis made a mental note to talk to Mister Stark about the appropriate age to hand small boys power tools.

“Then I suppose you'll be needing this.”

 

With a flourish, he pulled a small tin from under his jacket.

“Only one before dinner.”

 

Tony let out a childish squeal, taking the proffered tin and running off with it, skidding on the wood floors. 

 

Jarvis smiled, taking another cookie, wrapped in a napkin, from his coat pocket. He took a bite. His wife's cookies really were divine. 

 

(I can't think of a way to make that more Christmassy, so?)

  
  


2.

“Rhodey, you're being ridiculous.”

Tony complained, removing his tea from the stove. Growing up with a British butler and a British aunt taught a kid a few things, including the inherent love of tea. 

 

“Am not.”

His roommate replied, leaning against the doorway, though they could have carried a conversation with him still in the living room.

 

Their dorm was small and crowded, with thin walls and no privacy. It was as messy as you would expect of a fifteen and a nineteen year old to keep a living space. Just the opposite of what Tony was used to at home. He liked it.

 

“You totally are.”

Tony poured two cups of the tea, then, considering for a moment, added the words “machine that pours tea for you” to the list on the fridge entitled  Things for Tony to Build (in the science lab and not in the apartment where he can blow up our stuff). 

Tony thought the last part was a bit unnecessary.

 

“I'm not being ridiculous. I just can't afford to fly all the way back home just for Christmas.”

Rhodey explained. He wrapped his hands around the mug of tea, having picked up Tony's love of the drink. 

 

“And I already said that I'll pay for it.”

Tony said. He liked Rhodey for the fact that he never tried to take advantage of Tony's rich upbringing. Sometimes, though, it could be annoying.

 

“Nah, I can't ask you to do that. I'll be just fine right here. Besides, you're not going home for the holidays either.”

Rhodey pointed out knowingly.

 

“Yeah, but that's ‘cause I hate my family. Your mom is awesome.”

 

Last time Rhodey’s mom had visited, she had brought with her a care package full of homemade cookies, a new microwave, and a pair of handknit sweaters. Tony still wore his. 

 

“Whatever. I'm staying here for Christmas and that's it. Now, grab your jacket and let's go find a tree.”

Rhodey said, tossing his mug into the sink. 

 

Tony grumbled but went to get his sweater from his room anyways. If he didn't hurry, Rhodey would leave him behind.

  
  
  
  
  


“It's perfect.”

Tony declared, looking at the tree they had dragged into their apartment and decorated. 

 

“Man, it looks like the Charlie Brown Christmas tree.”

Rhodey said, trying not to look amused. 

 

“That's the charm.”

Tony insisted proudly.

 

As two college students, one not even old enough to drive without adult supervision yet, they didn't own much in the way of tree ornaments. Instead, they had cobbled together a handful of spare parts from Tony's scrapped inventions, coffee filters cut into the shape of snowflakes, an old eraser, a bunch of scattered paperclips, and a miniature American flag, looking forlorn at the top of the tree. 

 

“I could make it sing when people walk by, if you want. Or I could make it shoot lasers. Tiny ones.”

The small Stark offered, tilting his head as though he could already see the modifications playing out.

 

“Nah, that's okay.”

Rhodey said hastily.

“I think it looks cool.”

 

Tony shrugged, as if to say it was Rhodey’s loss. 

 

“What else do, you know, normal people do on Christmas?”

Tony asked. 

“My parents usually gave me cash and flew me to whatever mall I wanted.”

 

“One, that's depressing.”

Rhodey said. 

“Two, Christmas movies?”

  
  
  


As it turned out, Tony had never seen  A Christmas Story,  which Rhodey took as offense to both him and America. 

 

They camped out in front of their TV, which was a Frankenstein monstrosity Tony had found in the trash and fixed. It had the best sound system anyone had ever seen. 

 

Since they were college students and neither of them had actually done laundry in the past few weeks, they both shared the horribly garish Powerpuff Girls blanket. They balanced oversized cups of peppermint tea on their knees, Tony swirling a candy cane in his. ( It wasn't minty enough!) 

 

Tony predictably loved the movie, and, also predictably, offered to build them a leg lamp for the dorm. 

 

From there they moved onto a Claymation Christmas special, because Tony  was  fifteen, even if he was in college, and then  It’s a Wonderful Life. 

 

When they were getting near the end of the movie, to the cheesy, cliche ending, Tony was pillowed on Rhodey’s shoulder and they were out of tea. 

 

“Next year, you’re paying for tickets for  both  of us to go out to my parents’ for Christmas.”

Rhodey told Tony, who was still sucking on the remains of his candy cane. The teenager hummed agreeably. 

 

“I’ll bring your mom the leg lamp.”

“No, Tony.”

“Fine.”

 

3.

Tony isn't quite sure what  year  it is, let alone what day. All he knows is that he is really, really hung over.

 

He hears the clack of high heeled shoes and groans, covering his eyes with his arm.

 

“Good morning Mr. Stark. Enjoy the party?”

He realizes, with a start, that the shoes are in front of his face, which means he's on the floor. 

 

“Very much, Ms. Potts. You should have come.”

He says, then closes his eyes again, deciding that if the floor was comfortable enough for him last night, it can be comfortable for a little longer. 

 

She snorts, though it's a very dignified snort.

“I'd need a Christmas bonus to do that.”

 

“Done.”

Tony says, waving his arm in the general direction of where he thinks she might be. 

 

He cracks open an eye, and sees she's rolling hers at him.

 

“I'll talk to you again when you're sober.”

 

“Will do. See you later, Pepper.”

He waves cheerily, then groans and presses his face into the cool tile. Movement was a bad idea.

 

She sighs and clacks her heels away. She pauses just at the doorway.

 

“Merry Christmas, Tony.”

 

But, he's already asleep again, and snoring.


	13. Hulk Christmas

The Avengers had a place, about two hours by Quinjet out of the tower, where they went to train. Technically, they had training centers in the Tower and the X-men offered the use of the Danger Room, but really, they caused a  lot  of damage. 

 

So their training center was more of a huge field, surrounded by trees and secluded from everything and  everyone  else. 

 

They land, nudge Clint and Steve awake, and take the candy cane out of Thor's mouth. The guy may be indestructible, but candy canes can get sharp and no one likes to be stabbed in the tongue with what is essentially a peppermint flavored dagger. 

 

Bruce steps out apprehensively as Steve grabs his shield, Tony suits up, and the assassins stretch. The scientist doesn't always go with them on training days, but it's healthy to let the big guy out every once in a while and they need the practice as a team. 

 

Bruce shrugs out of his Christmas sweater (Star Wars and reindeer) and hesitantly steps away from the Quinjet. 

 

Slowly, his eyes bleed green, and his face starts to morph. None of the Avengers back up at the sight, although they do watch the big guy carefully. Soon, the Hulk is standing in front of them, breathing heavily. Tony flips up his faceplate and zooms up to the Hulk’s level, grinning. 

 

“Ready to train, Jolly Green?”

 

The Hulk grunted out an affirmative (articulate he was not), and they got ready to train. It was a familiar routine; they took turns fighting each other and teaching each other, learning how each other worked and getting practice. 

* * *

The Hulk seemed unusually distracted today, though, only halfheartedly chuckling when Clint fell into a patch of mud and once letting down his guard enough for a surprised Tony to accidentally hit him in the face with a repulsor.    
  


After Tony had finished apologizing (and hiding behind Nat), Steve stepped up to squint up at the large green creature. 

 

“What's the matter, Hulk?”

Steve asked, stowing his shield on his back. 

 

“Hulk want Christmas tree.”

 

“We have a tree at home.”

Natasha placated. 

 

“Tree not big enough.”

 

Steve's eyes flicked to the trees at the end of the clearing, following what The Hulk was looking at. 

 

“Uh, no, buddy, let's not-”

Tony, too, caught the gaze, his eyes widening. 

“No, no, our tree is fine, we can-”

 

It was too late. 

 

Thor and Hawkeye finally noticed the commotion (they were setting something on fire in the corner), and saw what the big green monster was looking at. More specifically, the patch of gigantic pine trees at the edge of the clearing. 

 

“Big trees.”

The Hulk stomped his way over. 

“No, Hulk, no, no-”

“RARGHHHHH!!!”

There was a tremendous ripping noise, and the sound of cracking. 

 

The Avengers looked at each other. 

* * *

The  Rockefeller Christmas Tree was a donation that year, courtesy of the Avengers. The only addendum was that the Hulk got to choose the star. 

 

The one the big guy picked out was surprisingly tasteful. 


	14. It's A Christmas Movie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just warning you guys, it's finals week for me. So that may mean somewhat irregular updates. I will try to keep posting every day, even if a little late. :)

“I don't care what you say, you're wrong.”

“No, you’re obviously the one who's wrong here.”

“NO.”

 

The Avengers were a tight-knit team. A unit. A squad. 

 

But there were very few things that could cause utter dissent within the ranks. And one of those was Die Hard. 

 

“Die Hard is a classic example of a Christmas movie.”

Steve argued, waving his hands emphatically. 

“Would you say  Home Alone  isn't a Christmas movie just because poor Kevin has some rough times? Of course it is! Same thing with Die Hard.”

 

Clint scoffed. 

“No. Just because you put a Christmas tree in the same scene as an explosion doesn't mean it's a Christmas movie.”

 

This drew a groan and a thrown pillow from Tony's side of the couch, where Die Hard was paused on a close up of John McClane mouthing a dirty word. 

 

“Christmas movies are happy. No one dies in a Christmas movie.”

Bruce said, not looking too involved in the argument. He was reading a battered copy of  Les Mis. 

 

“You're trying to tell me neither of those robbers died in Home Alone?”

Natasha asked. 

“Internal injuries, at least.”

 

“You are a tad unnerving.”

Thor said. 

“But I do not agree.”

 

Tony scowled.

“It’s a Christmas movie if the fact that it’s Christmas is a major plot point. Which it is. ‘Now I have a machine gun, hohoho’? Ring a bell?”

 

Steve nodded firmly. 

“It’s a Christmas movie.”

 

“ It’s not. ”

Thor said. He bumped shoulder with Bruce (their wooly Christmas sweaters making a slight staticky sound as they rubbed together), who nodded sort of apologetically. 

 

Sam and Rhodey stepped through the doorway, holding bags of popcorn. The two looked like they had been hiding out in the kitchen for a while, probably lamenting about their own pet superheroes who couldn’t take care of themselves. 

 

“Who cares.”

Said Rhodey. 

“It’s an amazing, year-round movie.”

 

Sam plopped himself down on the couch, smacking Clint’s hands away, hard, when he tried to reach for his popcorn. 

“We’re watching Die Hard, then Die Harder,  then,  we’re going to watch the rest.”

 

“Yeah, okay.”

Tony agreed. 

“I’m cool with that.”

Said Clint. 

“When did you two get so bossy?”

Asked Natasha. 

 

Rhodey and Sam shared  the look.  Sam had never actually known  the look  existed before he met Steve and Nat, but now that he knew what caused  the look,  it happened quite often. Once, he’d woken up from a dream doing it. 

 

“Okay, whatever.”

Sam said. 

“We’re watching it.”

 

He pressed play. 

“YipeeKiYay m-”


	15. Christmas at the Potts'

Everyone in Pepper's family was unsurprisingly successful. Two of her brothers and one sister was a lawyer, another of her sisters worked for Doctors Without Borders, and yet another brother was the CFO of a huge company, while the final brother was a thriving artist in New York. 

 

Because of their busy schedules, the Potts family got together early so they could all be together.

 

Tony, despite what everyone might tell you, didn't like to steal the spotlight  all  of the time, so he usually came about two days after Pepper to the Christmas reunion so she could see her family without the complications of her famous boyfriend.

 

When he showed up at the Potts’ Grandparent’s house, Pepper opened the door for him, looking relaxed and wearing a red Christmas sweater with bare feet. She kissed him on the cheek and ushered him into the warmth, where he was immediately accosted by her screaming nieces and nephews. They loved Iron Man, and they loved Tony more. 

 

They clung to his legs, making whooshing noises like Iron Man and poking his thigh with Captain America action figures. 

 

“Who are these little red-headed monsters?”

Tony asked, trying to shake Bethany from his shoe, to no avail. 

“Pepper, do I need to call the Avengers?”

The kids screamed in delight and went running, skidding down the hallway and into something that made a loud thud. 

 

Tony grinned. 

“Merry Christmas, Pep.”

He said, sliding an arm around her waist. Her family Christmases were hectic and long, but they were comfortable in a way Tony had never experienced before. 

 

He handed Pepper's mom the flowers he'd brought with a dazzling smile. She looked unimpressed and handed him a cookie, the smallest one from the batch. 

“Are you getting enough sleep? You don't look like it. You know I can go talk to those folks at SHIELD if they're working you too hard.”

  
  


“No thank you, Mrs. Potts.”

Tony said politely, trying to figure out how to get another cookie without her notice. She hummed disbelievingly, and for a split second Tony imagined a furious Pepper's mom storming into Fury’s office, armed with a disappointed look. 

 

Pepper elbowed him as if she knew what he was drinking, and he smiled innocently at her. 

 

One of Pepper's uncles was already in the living room, drunk and talking about politics as usual. The other uncles and aunts were watching the game, ignoring him.

 

They raised their glasses of eggnog and cups of coffee at Tony in greeting. 

 

Ralph, one of Pepper's brothers, stood up to greet the billionaire. His shock of red hair was brighter than Pep’s but duller than Matt Murdock's, although his smile was as bright as both of them. He was the artist brother, or Tony was pretty sure anyway. 

 

“How's superheroing going?”

He asked. 

 

“Good.”

Tony said. 

“Just last week I was force-punched into a portal to Pluto.”

“Pluto?”

“The suit has built-in oxygen now.”

 

Pepper had slipped away a moment before, and now returned, holding a red mug full of hot chocolate. 

“Are you talking about superheroes?”

She asked. 

“It's Christmas!”

 

Tony scoffed. 

“No, of course not, Pep!”

“We would never.”

Ralph agreed. He was a little terrified of his sister, because he was smart. 

 

Pepper didn't look convinced. 

 

“No Avengers here, at leas-”

Tony said, and cursed his bad luck. 

“T.”

He finished lamely. 

“I have to pee.”

* * *

 

He practically sprinted to the bathroom, and once inside, pried the grate off the air vent. 

“Clinton Barton get over here.”

He said into it. A moment later, there was a shuffling sound, then the rest of the sheepish archer. 

 

“How’d you-”

 

“I saw a purple sock in the air vent.”

Tony said flatly.

“Why are you here?”

 

Clint scratched the back of his head, smiling guiltily. 

“We didn’t actually believe you when you said you were going to the Jersey suburbs for Christmas.”

 

Tony put a hand over his arc reactor, acting as if he’d just been violently shot. He leaned against a decorative hand towel with a smiling Christmas tree. 

“Well that’s just rude, Pep’s family loves me- wait.  We? ”

He narrowed his eyes. 

“ We, Barton? ”

 

“Well,”

Clint said. 

“They’re in the garage.”

He sighed.

 

Tony sighed. The smiling tree stared at him obnoxiously. 

 

“I need the bathroom, Mr. Tony.”

A small, child’s voice said impatiently from outside.

“If you don’t let me in, you’re really gonna be sorry-”   
  


Tony swung the door open, giving Clint a glare to warn him not to misbehave. 

 

The little girl, Kristy, stared at the two superheroes stuffed into the small bathroom. 

 

“I’ll give you twenty bucks not to tell anyone that we’re here, Kris.”

Tony said. 

 

The little girl looked considering. 

“Twenty five. Now move, I gotta pee.”

* * *

 

“You know, Santa would be very disappointed.”

Tony said to the group of superheroes clustered next to the broken air hockey table and left-over Halloween decorations in Pepper’s parent’s garage.

“Just really, really disappointed.”

 

At least Steve had the grace to look abashed, even if it looked like he was probably faking it. 

 

“We didn’t think you would ever be purposely invited back somewhere more than two years in a row.”

Bruce said.

 

“Rude.”

Tony said. 

“But fair.”

 

Tony noticed his fellow team members at least had  some  tact, and were all dressed casually in jeans and sweaters, although Cap had a backpack that was shaped suspiciously like his shield and Nat was definitely packing. Thor just had his hammer resting casually on the back of a broken chair.

 

“Okay, but just so you know, Pepper is going to kill you, even if you didn’t know you were going to be crashing a family gathering.”

Tony warned. 

 

Now  they looked a little ashamed of themselves, even Natasha. 

 

Tony, pleased to have the moral high ground for once, smirked at them. Of course, that was when Pepper came in. 

 

Upon seeing the Avengers, her mouth pressed into a line and she looked very disappointed in them. 

 

“For once, it wasn’t my fault, I promise.”

Tony said, and swooped up Angela, another one of Pepper’s nieces. Angela was only two, but she toddled around after Pepper like the the woman was her mother. He bounced her on his hip, either to remind her how cute he was or to remind her not to commit manslaughter in front of a two year old. 

 

Angela bopped at Tony’s nose, giggling, and he pulled a face at her. 

 

“That’s weirdly domestic.”

Clint commented from the corner, which served to break Pepper out of whatever trance she was in. 

 

“Well come in, I guess.”

She said, swinging the door that led back into the house open. 

“But be warned, you have to help clean up.”

 

“It’s true.”

Said Tony. 

“They taught me how to use a vacuum  and  a laundry machine.”

 

The Avengers, Earth’s mightiest heroes, looked at each other and shrugged. 

 

“Merry Christmas, I guess.”

Natasha said. 

“Are there more children?”

She asked. 

“This one is cute.”

 

She stole Angela off of Tony’s hip, who scowled at her.

“Oh yeah, lots more.”   
He promised. 

* * *

 

And that’s the story of how six Avengers gathered on the couch of the Pott’s family home, being clucked at by Pepper’s parents and learning the  proper  way to make hot chocolate from tween nieces, nephews and cousins. 

 

Tony had learned that lesson a long time ago, and besides, it was worth it to watch Steve and Natasha desperately try to escape Ms. Pott’s scolding on how they were too skinny. 

 

“Our family is weird.”

Pepper remarked, leaning over Tony’s shoulder, who was sitting on the couch holding someone’s (he wasn’t sure whose) red-headed baby. 

 

“Yeah,”   
Tony agreed.

“Maybe next year we should just invite them.”


	16. Past Christmas: Thor

Past Christmas: Thor

 

1- A small, blonde, mischievous head popped up from it's hiding place behind an ornate table, followed closely by, as it usually was, a black-haired head. 

 

The Yule log was burning, as it had been the last few nights. There were intricately carved runes and wishes on it, slowly turning to ash. As future King, Thor had been allowed to help pick out the largest tree in the forest to burn for the celebrations. 

 

Loki crept closer, behind his brother. 

“Want me to freeze it?”

He asked. Their mother had been teaching Loki magic, much to the dismay of their tutors.

 

“No.”

Thor laughed, obviously attempting to appear older and bigger than he was. 

“The Yule log represents the flame of the season.”

 

“I don't see the big deal.”

Loki yawned. 

 

Thor punched him on the arm, perhaps a bit too hard, and they continued to creep forwards. 

 

They met with a small, dark-haired girl with wild hair and two daggers on her hip. 

 

“Hi, Sif.”

Thor greeted, while Loki simply nodded. It was getting dark outside, the almost ethereal lights of Asgard beginning to dim. 

 

“Ready?”

The little girl asked, hefting a sack over her shoulder. 

 

“Yeah.”

Thor said. 

 

“Sure.”

Loki said. 

  
  
  


“You know Heimdall can see everything.”

Sif whispered as they got closer to their target.

 

“Only if he's looking.”

Thor said. 

“But all the adults are celebrating Yule in the Great Hall.”

 

“Which is where you two should be.” Said Sif. “Even if your dad has overindulged on the mead again, your mom is bound to notice.”

 

“Nah.” 

Loki said with a yawn.

“I conjured up some projections of us playing at a table. As long as no one tries to talk to them, we should be okay.”

 

Sif looked at him, a little wonderingly.  

“That's so cool! I wish  my  mom would teach me magic. It took me forever just to convince my parents to let me swordfight.”

 

“And swordfight you can.”

Thor said, appreciatively. The small, dark haired girl in front of him was the only one who had ever beaten the young prince in a fight, with swords or fists. 

 

Sif gave him a look--  of course--  and flipped her hair over her shoulder. 

“We should get going.”

She said.

“We don’t want the adults to figure out we’re gone.”

 

Thor nodded, too-long blonde hair bobbing excitedly.

 

They crept forward, until they were in an outdoor balcony of sorts, if it could be called a balcony if it was as wide and long as a pasture. 

 

They met Volstagg, Fandral, and Hogan, all gangly teenagers taller than them, at the doorway. 

 

Volstagg, too, was carrying a sack over his shoulder, and he bumped Thor companionably on the shoulder when he arrived.

 

“Ready?”

Thor asked the group at large, tilting his chin in what he probably thought was a kingly manner. 

 

“Ready.”   
The children all confirmed, except Loki, who did so after a moment of puppy eyes from Thor.

 

The balcony opened into a wide ledge, below which there was nothing but dark open sky, quickly becoming nighttime. Sif opened the sack on her back, revealing thickly rolled furry blankets. One, they laid on the ground, and the other the kids wrapped around themselves as they sat on the edge of the precipice. Volstagg dove into his own pack and emerged with small sweet breads, which he gave out. 

 

After a moment of shushing each other, the show they had been waiting for began. 

 

Every year on this date at Yule Time, on Asgard there was a light show to rival anything they’d ever seen. Red, green, gold, and silver lights danced across the sky, a mixture of magic and the makings of scientists. 

 

Even Hogun stopped talking for a while, and they simply watched the stars. 

 

The future would almost never be this serene for this group again, but for now, everything was perfect. 

 

“Happy Yule, brother.”

Thor whispered to the dark-haired boy beside him. 

 

“Happy Yule, brother.”

Loki repeated, eyes shining in the lights. 

* * *

 

2- “This is not a good idea.”

Thor said. 

Loki, now a tall, gangly teenager, rolled his eyes. 

 

“Like starting a fistfight with someone because they said you were short?”

He asked. Thor, full of righteous fury, drew himself up tall (which, admittedly, was not  extremely  tall) and sniffed. 

“It is a king’s right to defend his honor.”

He said. 

 

“Suuuree.”

Loki drew out the word. 

“Now let's do this.”

 

A burst of flurries and heaps of snow, tinged with the touch of magic, immediately fell on the two kingly figures walking through the doors, visiting neighbors from another realm. 

 

“Run?”

Thor asked. 

 

“Run.”

Loki agreed. 

 

They sprinted away, a burst of snow behind them. 

* * *

 

3- Jane seemed to take personal offense at Thor's confusion on a few aspects of Midgard’s Christmas traditions. Although the scientist chattered on about the Norse influence on modern-day Christmas, many of the items Thor saw while being led through the aisles of Walmart were completely foreign to him. 

 

However, Jane looked so lovely wearing what she insisted was a Santa hat and excitedly explaining mistletoe to him that he did not mind. 

 

Darcy met them in the electronics aisle, where devices that were primitive to Thor were brand new for many Midgardians. 

 

The lady Darcy had a bright green elf hat of painfully familiar color perched upon her head, and was pushing what seemed to be a cart filled with nothing but Christmas sweets. 

 

Thor smiled broadly at her and motioned to take the cart. She accepted rather easily and took a moment to squeeze his bicep consideringly. 

 

Jane threw her head back and laughed. Thor thought he had never seen something so beautiful as this Midgard woman in jeans and a messy bun, not even in all the halls of Asgard. 

 

Selvig emerged from an aisle, disgruntledly clutching Darcy's purse and trying to shoo jane away from the children's chemistry set the next aisle over. 

Thor smiled. 

 

Although shopping in a Walmart on Christmas on Earth might not have been what he envisioned as a child, Thor was completely content. 


	17. Shopping

“What am I supposed to get for Thor?”

Tony complained abruptly, despite the fact that Bruce's eyes were closed and he had headphones in, lounging on the couch. 

 

“What?”

Bruce asked, taking out one earbud and opening his eyes, a look of resignation already crossing his face. 

 

“Thor. What do I get him?”

 

“I don't know.”

Bruce said. 

“What'd you get everyone else?”

 

Tony huffed at him. 

“Everyone else was easy. Steve gets a Bucky Bear and a shield update. Natasha gets a set of guns with little black widow bullets. Barton, whoopie cushion arrows. You, your present is amazing. But what do I get Thor?”

 

“The guy is practically a deity.”

Bruce remarked. 

“Good point.”

 

Tony scowled. 

“I can't even give him a weapons upgrade because his hammer is way cooler than anything we could make.”

 

“Do you want to go shopping?”

Bruce asked.

“Even this close to Christmas, it's going to be crazy.”

 

“Aww, you're offering to take me out?”

Said Tony. 

“Why Bruce, I didn't know you thought about me that way.”

 

Bruce let his eyes bless green, just a little, feeling a distinct chuckle from the Hulk side of his brain. 

 

Tony held up his hands. 

“All right, all right, fine. Will you please take me to the mall, Bruce?”

* * *

 

“Let's just get him the box set of  Friends .”

Bruce suggested, somewhat desperately. 

“Everyone likes  Friends. ”

 

Tony groaned. 

“It's on Netflix now. Bruce, we've been shopping for six hours. I think I'm going to die. Will you get me a Cinnabon?”

 

“You're a billionaire.”

Bruce reminded. 

“You can buy yourself a cinnamon roll.”

But he headed towards the kiosk anyway. 

* * *

  
  


“We aren't ever going to find anything.”

Tony said, looking morosely at a wrench in Sears. 

Bruce prodded dejectedly at a drill bit laying nearby. 

 

“I agree.”

He said. 

“But you can't just get him a gift card.”

He saw the look on Tony's face. 

“You  cannot  get Thor a gift card for Christmas.”

 

“Fine.”

He pouted. 

 

Bruce looked over his shoulder, hoping for something to magically appear. 

 

Actually… 

 

Bruce pointed to the X-box in the corner. 

“Get him one of those.”

 

He suggested. Tony bought it so fast, his credit card smoked a little as it slid through the card reader. 

 

* * *

  
Little did they know the monster they'd released until the day after Christmas, when they found Thor playing Dance Dance Revolution at three AM, and then the next day when they found Steve and Thor crushing Rhodey at Mario Kart. 


	18. Past Christmas: JARVIS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry guys! I apologize for missing yesterday- I was recovering from finals week.

Past Christmas: JARVIS

 

1- As of right now, Just Another Rather Very Intelligent System was little more than a huge stack of MacGyvered computer towers. Many parts were held together with actual duct tape, and paper clips carried currents in more than a few areas. A cannibalized alarm clock beeped occasionally and a laptop fan whirred, plugged into the interface.

 

Also, JARVIS was currently “wearing” a Santa hat. 

 

“How’s it feel, your first Christmas being a somewhat sentient AI?”   
Mister Stark asked, leaning back on a chair and taking a long sip of something that looked suspiciously like whiskey. 

 

“Are you aware of the legal drinking age in New York?”

JARVIS asked wryly in lieu of a reply. 

“I am fairly certain you do not qualify, sir.”

 

Mister Stark snorted noisily, most likely a result of his inebriation. 

“Never heard of it, J.”   
  


JARVIS and Tony Stark were silent for a while, with only the whir of JARVIS’ fans as the AI attempted to see how far his reach could stretch. So far, there did not seem to be a limit. 

 

“You’re really cool.”   
Sir looked into his cup, which was actually a Snoopy mug with faded lettering, suddenly looking the 20 year old he was. 

“But it’s okay to miss the real Jarvis at Christmas, right?”

 

JARVIS searched his databases, then, finding information insufficient for his tastes, hacked into the Library of Congress, then a newly budding operation called SHIELD. 

 

“He was a great guy.”   
Tony said.    
“I don’t think he ever did a bad thing in his life. He and Anna would always have Christmas cookies for me.”

 

JARVIS accessed the file he was looking for; ironically, the first photo he stumbled upon was of Edwin Jarvis in a surveillance photo, holding an umbrella and a gun for one Peggy Carter. 

 

“Indeed.”

The AI JARVIS says to his creator’s earlier query. 

“I do believe it is an acceptable human trait to feel the absence of those one’s lost, especially when it’s Christmas.”

 

JARVIS dials James Rhodes, a personal friend of Sir’s, and nudges Dummy with a strand of code to move closer to their creator. 

 

“Merry Christmas, J.”   
Tony says. 

 

“Merry Christmas, Sir.”

JARVIS is still wearing a Santa hat.

* * *

  
2- “Sir, might I suggest  not  doing that?”

JARVIS was far more than the stack of hard drives, spit, and glue that he once was, and by now he knew Mister Stark well enough to be aware of his more eccentric proclivities. 

 

“I have to have the best Christmas tree.”

Sir told him seriously, and plugged it in, although he did not look very surprised when his experiment shot sparks and caught aflame. 

 

Butterfingers whirred sadly and shot the extinguisher almost, but not quite, on the fire. 

* * *

  
3- “Hello, JARVIS.”

Sir's new assistant greeted the AI pleasantly, as she did every morning. 

 

JARVIS found himself pleasantly surprised when be found the woman returning. Previous assistants had often disappeared after a single day, and one left within the first hour. 

 

“Mister Stark.”

Ms. Potts stood in the doorway to Sir's lab, hands on hips. 

“I would have sworn I told you to get dressed for a gala.”

 

“Call me Tony.”

He insisted, dodging the question. 

 

“Are you planning on going to a Christmas gala like that?”

Ms. Potts asked, in a tone JARVIS recognized as meaning it was not a question at all. 

 

“...no?”

Sir tried. 

 

“No.”

Ms. Potts confirmed. 

“Get off that workbench.”

 

That was the moment JARVIS discovered it would be mutually beneficial for all parties were Ms. Potts to remain in Sir’s employ. 

 

JARVIS searched his databanks, and lowering the lights, began to play “Baby It’s Cold Outside.”

 

Ms Potts startled, looking up at the ceiling, as most did when they first encountered JARVIS. 

 

“What are you doing now?”

She asked Tony, glaring. 

 

“It's not me.”

The billionaire insisted, tapping at his laptop keys with a frown. 

 

JARVIS dimmed the lights to what most humans deemed “romantic”, soft Christmas music still playing in the background. 

 

JARVIS lowered the temperature, just a little, and Pepper stepped just an inch closer to Sir. 

 

He handed her his jacket, absentmindedly, and JARVIS would have smirked had he been able. 

 

“Ahh,”

Sir said, tapping a key. 

“Got it.”

 

And all of it went away, leaving a brightly lit lab and a Pepper Pots wearing a 7,000 dollar man's sportcoat. 

 

“You'd think he was trying to take over the world.”

Tony grinned, and led Ms. Potts outside. 

 

JARVIS let out a small whoosh of machinery, almost a sigh. 

 

Oh, well. 

 

There was always next year. 


	19. Romanov-ettes

There was a red, sparkly sign outside Tony’s second-favorite gym, on the third floor of Avenger’s tower. 

 

“Umm… what does this mean?”   
Tony asked, snagging Steve’s arm as he walked by, carrying a big, crazily-heavy looking sack. 

 

Steve looked at him like  _ he  _ was the one who was crazy. He gestured wordlessly to the sign. 

 

“Yeah, but…”

Tony said, looking at the sign. It was in Natasha’s creepily neat, almost typewriter-like writing. All it said was THE ROMANOV-ETTES. 

“What does it mean?”   
  


“The Romanov-ettes are practicing for their recital.”

Steve said. 

“I thought you knew.”

 

Thor walked by, carrying a handful of sparkly headbands with little bobble-head esque candy canes on top. 

“The young Romanov-ettes are almost ready.”

The Norse God said proudly. 

 

“The…”   
“Romanov-ettes.”

Natasha said, breezing by in a swish of tulle and ribbons. 

“We used the Russian spelling of Romanoff because it rolls off the tongue better.”

 

“They’re her dance troop. They range from 5 to 12.”

Clint said, trailing behind Natasha. 

“Intermediate class. They have their Christmas recital next Thursday.”

 

“Oh.”

Tony said. 

“I’m not actually sure why I’m the only one who hasn’t heard of this.”

When Bruce rounded the corner, dressed in a Christmas sweater and carrying four sets of tiny glittery ballet slippers, Tony shrugged. 

“But I’m totally in.”   
  


  
  
  


 

The Romanov-ettes had a recital on Thursday. 

 

As it turned out, Natasha had been holding dance classes/self defense lessons for actual  _ months,  _ and as it turned out, her students were actually amazing. 

 

The Avengers became very busy over the next few days, sewing costumes and tying bows and running out to the store for band-aids and fruit snacks or double-sided tape. 

  
  


It was all worth it Thursday night, when the Avengers sat in the crowd (minus Natasha, who was backstage decidedly  _ not _ looking nervous), strangely apprehensive. 

 

The kids were amazing, though, and nothing went wrong, maybe due to the fact that Steve looked like he would murder anyone who was too noisy during the dramatic parts and Tony kept throwing things at people who whispered.

 

Natasha even came out in the end, bowing to the audience almost shyly as her kids threw red and green glitter on her. Bruce and Steve let out the loudest wolf whistles anyone had ever heard, and Clint threw a bouquet of roses from the rafters. 

 

“Just wait until the Easter concert.”

Clint said. 

“Even I’m a little scared to imagine what’s going to happen there.”   
  


“I’m thinking purple tutus.”   
Thor said thoughtfully.

**Author's Note:**

> Prepare for more heartwarming and tooth-rotting fluff to come! The following chapters should be a little longer but I thought this one would be a nice intro.


End file.
